


Apocalyptic Shame

by RantyFanGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst and Porn, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Endverse Dean Winchester, Homophobic John Winchester, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Shame, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RantyFanGirl/pseuds/RantyFanGirl
Summary: Endverse.After overhearing Cas with another man, Dean's long-buried desires come to the surface, haunting him until he can think of nothing but his best friend in the dirtiest ways possible. He decides to relieve that tension alone, using a toy and his fantasies of Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 49





	Apocalyptic Shame

**Author's Note:**

> **PSA** There's a lot of seriously internalized homophobia from Dean, abusive/homophobic John references, and an implied murder. This is extremely graphic and contains triggering content. Read at your own discretion, and let me know if I missed any tags so this isn't accidentally stumbled upon by someone trying to avoid this kind of content!

He had to get rid of this feeling. There wasn’t another option. He’d made the mistake of walking by Cas’ place a couple weeks ago, and he /heard/ it. It was one thing for Dean to know Cas fucked anyone and everyone, he couldn’t judge the formal angel for how he chose to cope with mortality. It was Dean’s fault he lost his wings and was stuck in this hellscape. It was completely different to hear his best friend fucking a man, and to hear how much that man enjoyed it. He’d always brushed Cas off for his own sanity and Cas’ safety. It was fine until he heard the moans, and he was faced with an extremely unsettling reality: Dean wanted Cas to fuck /him/ like that. 

Shame and anticipation were the two emotions warring within Dean as he popped open floor boards beneath the rug of the small, dingy dwelling he called home. Beneath the floor boards were a safe, and Dean put in the combination he knew by heart. The numbers he’d chosen to set the lock only worsened the sense of shame and his own disappointment in himself for his weakness. 

He saw no other option. The hunter needed to get it out of his system, and things would go back to normal. He wouldn’t feel this loss of control that had been plaguing him. Maybe he wouldn’t be so angry (as if that’s a possibility), and more importantly he could return to burying himself in random women and letting it be enough. 

It was his own fucking fault. He shouldn’t have been so stupid. Dean knew better than to play with fire. He knew NEVER to give in to temptation, not even to get close to it. Now the thoughts plagued him, and Dean couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, couldn’t run missions, he couldn’t do ANYTHING without being assaulted with unwanted thoughts and nearly uncontrollable desires. However close he was, Dean hadn’t lapsed. Not yet. He’d tried to forget with women. That almost worked, except for the fact that Dean couldn’t get it up until he thought about /him/. Hell, Dean even contemplated picking up a guy, thinking maybe bending someone over with the right anatomy would work, but he was still saving that for an extremely desperate, last-resort measure. 

Dean was well aware of his own sexuality, and he hated himself for it with every fiber of his being, but he’d made it this far in life without succumbing to that deepest desire. Sort of. The only man who’d ever fucked Dean was himself, and tonight he was going to do the honors once again. 

The safe now open, inside Dean removed another box. This was a metal lock box that had seen better days, but it still latched and locked. The hunter removed the key that he kept in the false bottom of his desk drawer, locked inside another small combination lock box that was more modern. 

His deepest shame was kept as deeply buried as Dean could manage in this hellhole that he called home. Fitting the key to the lock, his heart rate started skyrocketing and his whole body was thrumming with anticipation. It had been years since he’d opened this box. He hadn’t let himself even consider it since that last time. Right after Dean had caved into his weakness, Sam went to Detroit and— No. Nope. NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW, WINCHESTER. 

Dean took a deep breath to calm himself, but it did no good. His body was on alert, and no amount of shame was going to stop him now. He’d locked and barricaded every door, closed the blinds and curtains on all the windows, and put a sock on the door. It was old school, but it was an efficient way of getting everyone to leave him alone. After the camp was long asleep, he’d quietly remove the sock and let anyone who’d walked by wonder whose company Dean had been keeping tonight. Either no one would admit to it and he’d be a mystery, or one of the more boastful ladies would claim credit, and Dean wouldn’t bother to set the record straight. 

Knowing the only company Dean was keeping tonight was himself, another wave of shame coursed through him. The lock clicked open, and there in the box were three items that no one but him knew existed. They were secrets that he could ruin Dean if they ever got out. The tools of his shame that he hated himself for were a sealed bag with a bottle of lube, a plug, and a dildo. 

The plug wouldn’t be enough for the need that had built within Dean. When he got this weak, that usually worked. He could wear it all day, to remind himself of the feeling he craved, then jerk off, clean it, and hide it away with all of his desires. No, tonight Dean’s fingers curled around the dildo, and he carefully extracted it and the lube. The thoughts that plagued him required a more direct touch. First, he blared some rock music and pointed his boombox towards the window so anyone who happened by would hear that and not the sounds the hunter would be making tonight. Second was a thorough cleaning and drying of the toy. Finally, Dean could allow himself to relax. He mechanically undressed, taking off every piece of clothing he had on. Each item was carefully folded and put on a table for him to change into after. Dean was usually a slob, but in this everything was methodical and perfect. He couldn’t show any cracks in his façade later, and this was a part of the routine. 

The hunter eyed his bed, but shook away the thought. He had to sleep there later. Instead he draped a towel over the couch and plopped down. The only thing he was wearing was his socks and he propped his feet up on the coffee table, legs spread. Slouching down the shabby piece of furniture, and scooting until his ass was hanging off the edge, Dean started with giving his length a few tugs. He’d had a chub since his hand touched the dildo. Still slowly stroking himself, Dean picked up the toy and wrapped his lips around it. He sucked on the silicone tip, tongue teasing it as if it were the real thing. He pushed the toy into his mouth slowly, and the first time it hit the back of his throat, he choked on it. Dean groaned loudly, his length fully hardening from that more than his own touch. He pulled back and started again, until he was able to relax his throat enough to take most of it into his mouth. 

The hunter’s eyes were watering and he was still gagging occasionally. He closed his eyes, imagining the silicone was smooth velvet skin, he tried to recreate the feeling of a man attached to it, that the man was the one making Dean gag on his dick and had his eyes watering from the efforts. It wasn’t Dean giving a blow job, it was him doing his absolute best to keep up with being face-fucked, and he loved every second of it. The hunter was whimpering and moaning around his toy, and when he imagined the man attached to the dick, it didn’t even surprise him that it was Cas’ scruffy face he saw, smiling down at him in amusement, playing a game to see how far he could push Dean until he broke. 

In this scenario, safe in his head, alone in his home, knowing this would never EVER come to fruition, he knew the answer. There were no limit with Cas. He’d let Cas do whatever he wanted, and Dean would enjoy it all. Cas was the only person in this world that Dean fully trusted. The reasons he craved Castiel so intensely was the same reason he could never have him. Trust. If he took Cas’ trust and acted on his desires, he’d lose Cas. That wasn’t an option. 

Realizing how loudly he’d been moaning, Dean dropped his hand from his length and pulled the toy out from between his lips. If he was going to come to imagining his best friend’s face, the most dangerous temptation Dean could think of, he damn well wasn’t going to do it while picturing Cas’ dick in his /mouth/. 

This was the part he hated the most. He hated how good it felt to sit there, knees bent, legs wide, open and exposed, waiting and wanting. It was weak. Unnatural. He was less then because of the desire. 

Dean applied a generous amount of lube to two fingers. He could always sneak another bottle on a raid or something if he used too much. He’d done it once or twice before. Ignoring his length for now, Dean slipped his left arm under his left knee and lifted his leg off the coffee table, pulling it to his chest so his foot was dangling in the air. His other knee dropped, falling wide and opening his legs as far as he could in this position. The hunter teased his hole with one finger, circling it, covering it with lube, just poking at it. As soon as he could, he pushed one fingertip in, just to the first knuckle and he started working himself in a circle. Dean hated how long it took to prep himself. He wish he could fuck himself close to raw, pushing in until he was too sore to properly sit or walk the next day. Fuck, but he /loved/ that feeling. It wasn’t an option right now. Tomorrow Dean had a mission and he was stuck with Cas. There was no way. Dean was taking his time tonight so he could fuck himself the way he needed. This was his night off with himself to take care of things so life would return to normal— as normal as this life ever got, anyway

It was some time later that he’d managed to get his middle finger fully inserted, and he was working himself around, slowly easing in a second finger. By the time Dean worked himself enough to slide in a third, he’d had enough. He’d stretched himself as much as he’d had the patience for. It was close, but he continued to prep himself anyway, trying to enjoy it while he worked himself over and got his body ready. 

When he was as close enough as he could be, Dean wiped his own saliva off of the silicone and coated it in lube. 

Very slowly, he pushed it into himself, automatically tensing at the initial intrusion. Dean forced his body to relax bit by bit, and when it did, the tip of the dildo was in him. 

“Fuck yeah.” He grunted to himself, pushing in a little more. Once about an inch or so of it was in him, Dean pulled the toy back and started fucking himself with small movements. The thrusts became deeper in time as his body allowed the intrusion until he was finally filled, exactly the way he’d needed to be. This was the overwhelming desire that was ruining Dean’s life. This was the feeling that he /had/ to have. It had been eating at him, gnawing away at his brain, reminding him of its presence about four times a day. Today he’d had an intrusive thought at least once an hour, and he hunter decided he’d had enough of himself. He had to feed that inner darkness, and here he was, doing exactly that. He’d hate himself more when this was done, but right now the hunter was flying on a high. 

In and out, in and out, all while he clutched his thigh to his chest, leaned his head against the couch cushion, eyes closed while he made the worst kinds of noises. They weren’t the deep moans and groans that he forced himself to make when he was fucking a woman. Each sound Dean made was a whimper of need, a high-pitched moan of pleasure, or a cry of ecstasy when he hit something right within himself. 

Now that he could fit almost the whole toy within him, Dean dropped his leg, spreading both of them as far as he could. His fingers wrapped around his length again, and the hunter started stroking himself. It didn’t take long for the mental images to start, and it didn’t surprise him that they were all of Cas. 

Cas, on his knees between his legs in front of the couch, while Dean held both his legs and watched his best friend relentlessly slam into him. A couple minutes later the image shifted and Dean moaned loudly as he pictured the toy he was using as Cas, fucking him from behind in the shower while the hunter had his hands splayed on wall bent over and legs spread.

He was getting too close, too soon. Dean stopped stroking his length and slowed down his movements so he was fucking himself at a more sedate pace. The fantasy changed with the speed, and now they were on a bed, slow thrusting and looking into each other’s eyes. NOPE. Dean was not handling that fantasy. He opened his eyes and shook his head, as if that would erase the intrusive images. It was one thing to think about Cas railing him, anything to do with that... absolutely not.

He started moving a little faster again after his eyes closed and the fantasy shifted. They were still on the bed, Dean’s bed specifically now, but the hunter was face down , fists gripping the sheets. His back was arched and his ass was in the air, completely on display for his best friend. Cas was gripping his hips and fucking him hard, and even with his face in the mattress Dean could see the stupid smirk on his face as he got exactly what he wanted: Dean a fucking mess for him, spread and loving being used by the former angel. Stupid smug bastard... He couldn’t even be annoyed. He was too turned on and wanted it to happen too much. 

Faster and faster Cas thrust into him, pulling out almost completely then pushing back in, as fast as he could. 

“Please!” Dean didn’t realize he cried out, begging the empty air. “Fuck me Cas!” He was almost /yelling/ out to no one, lost in his own pleasure and the fantasy. 

This is exactly why Dean cranked his music up before he got started. 

Faster and faster his hands moved, stroking his length and fucking himself while he thought of Cas. The fantasy kept shifting now. Cas fucking Dean in various places and positions, all over the camp. He knew he was getting close, and he wanted to shove every scenario he could come up with into the small window of opportunity. After tonight, Dean planned on locking the Cas thoughts up with the toys, tightly sealed and buried under multiple layers of security, not to be seen again for a very long time, never if he was lucky. 

“Fuck!” He cried out suddenly, moving in a frenzied state. He kept going, fucking himself hard and fast. The last image in the hunter’s head was him riding Cas in the passenger seat of the jeep, out on an abandoned road, too turned on to wait until they got to safety. He wasn’t riding though. He was on Cas’ dick, but he was gripping the seat behind Cas, trying to hold on while his best friend quickly fucked into him from his position on the seat beneath him. The feeling was too much for Dean, he’d been pushing the toy into himself too hard and squeezing his length too tightly for him to last. Dean finally cried out Cas’ name, coming hard and spilling onto his stomach. One spurt managed to reach his chest. 

Jesus fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time he came so hard or so much. Panting, Dean let himself melt into the couch for a minute, his toy still in him as his tired arms rested on the cushions beside him. 

As the high from his climax dissipated, the shame set in. Looking down at himself, Dean didn’t see evidence of an extremely satisfied and satiated man. What he saw was his own weakness. He removed the toy from himself and stood on shaky legs, picking up the towel to clean himself off. He’d need a shower, but this was good enough for now. The towel got buried in the middle of his laundry pile and Dean went to the sink, once again scrubbing his toy completely clean. It needed to dry before he put it away, so the hunter covered it with a kitchen towel, double checked the locks on the doors, and took his clothes to the bathroom with him. A quick scrub down in the shower removed all evidence of his own pleasure, and Dean focused on the future. 

People were dying out there. He still had to find a way to take care of Sa— Lucifer. He had a camp full of people counting on him to do his job, which was to keep them alive and safe. There was no time for these kinds of destructive fantasies. 

‘I told you not to disappoint me again.’ His father’s words echoed in his head as the water ran down Dean’s body, his head hung in shame, cheeks flaming with embarrassment for what he’d done. ‘You’re not sorry until you’re as sorry as I am that you turned out like this.’ 

Even long buried, after the world had all but ended, John Winchester’s words ate at Dean and his sense of self worth. He couldn’t be the son his father needed him to be. These urges always came back to haunt him. As if that weren’t enough, everyone he cared about ended up damaged or dead, because of him. 

His first crush disappeared under mysterious circumstances, last seen with John dragging him off. His one failed attempt at actually dating a man went up in flames before it got off the ground because Dean couldn’t bring himself to fully admit his fears. When he tried to explain about his trauma, about John, that man had left and run away. He ran straight to another time period, preferring the 1800s over the possibility of ever running into Dean again. And Cas... no. Cas couldn’t be touched by this. Cas was the only thing that made this life worth living. He was the only one who understood even a modicum of the weight the hunter carried on his shoulders, and even Cas didn’t know Dean’s true secret. It didn’t matter how bad Dean wanted Cas. He couldn’t have him, not in any form. Not ever. He couldn’t risk Cas. 

Fact: Dean Winchester was gay. He slept with women only for show and he got nothing out of the experience.  
Fact: Dean absolutely loathed himself for his sexuality. His father spent years figuratively and literally beating into Dean’s head that he was less than for his desires. He didn’t deserve love if he could not love the way John approved of.  
Fact: Anyone Dean was both attracted to and cared for either died or was so ruined by the fallout of Dean’s toxic personality that they were damaged permanently.  
Fact: Cas was all Dean had to hold onto, so Dean could NEVER consider being with him.  
Fact: Dean was exhausted with his own lies and bullshit. 

There was no happiness for Dean, not even a stolen moment. Head dropping further, Dean let a few tears come out as the hot water streaming over the back of his head. He was more ashamed of himself than he’d ever been. 

He’d failed everyone that mattered but Cas. That wasn’t true. He’d failed Cas, too. If it weren’t for him, Cas could have left with the angels. He’d have his wings, he’d be /safe/. He was a mortal now, with no emotional support to rely on, burying himself in any and all pleasures life could offer just to try to deal. If Dean allowed himself to even consider being with Cas like that, he had no doubt that he would lose him completely. 

There were no winners in this godforsaken life. There was only surviving, and the hunter wouldn’t be able to even do that if he allowed himself to /ever/ think about this again. 

He quickly rinsed himself off and got out of the shower and dressed with his back to the mirror. Dean couldn’t even stand to look at his own face right now, he was that ashamed of what he’d done.

When he was clothed again, he put the lube and his toy away in the bag, sealed it back up, placed it back in the box and locked everything away. The small safe was returned to its place beneath the floor board. The key was hidden back in the lock box at a separate location, and Dean dropped into his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

If he could have gotten to Sam, to stop him from saying yes...  
If Dean didn’t push Sam away so hard to get away from John when they were younger.  
If he wasn’t the kind of person his father hated.  
If he was a better son.  
If, if, if, the thoughts swirled around his head. At some point a pattern began to form, and the hunter was certain of only one thing. 

Somehow, this entire world they’d lived in was a direct result of Dean’s actions and his personality. 

No, Cas could NEVER know. They’d never speak of it again. Too many lives were at stake, and the most important one (to Dean) was Cas’.


End file.
